


Politics and Other Bloodsports

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Blood Drinking, Historical References, M/M, Mutual Pining, Politics, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: Napoleon is in exile at Elba, the King of Saxony imprisoned, the world’s largest peace conference is happening in Vienna. And yet Peter is here not to join the fun but to hunt the vampire that had once been his friend. If only he were a little better at navigating society, rather than hunting out in the woods...
Relationships: Vampire/Vampire Hunter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020





	Politics and Other Bloodsports

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiffElderberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiffElderberry/gifts).



* * *

_** St.Petersburg, September 1806 ** _

The vampire was fast, almost faster than the trained warhorse Peter was riding in pursuit. Nimble on his feet, he wove through the forest like a frightened hare and not the dangerous predator he was. Obviously, he had not had much practise in evading hunters, as Peter cut him off very quickly despite being disadvantaged due to his inferior strength. 

It was almost an insult to Peter, how easy this was. The vampire seemed to be more out of his mind and erratic than the other vampires he had hunted, although the vampiric mind that took over a human body was generally monstrous and completely different from the human they had been before.

The monks of Wallachia who had taught him most of their lore had posited that vampiric transformation was akin to the devil taking over the spirit, and leaving behind nothing of the human soul. So far, none of his experiences had disproven that theory.

This vampire had killed his entire estate in a mad rampage of bloodlust, the only reason Peter had found him so quickly. The story of the torn throats and ripped limbs of every servant and family member had not only passed through the Court of Alexander I. of which the vampire had formerly been a part, but had swept all over the country. Peter had only heard the tale on his way to the court, and had investigated.

He was awful, and Peter would make another notch for him on his sword belt gladly and with pride, but he was not the vampire he had hunted to Russia initially. Peter was still inexperienced, after all, and the trail of his vampire, the one that had taken over the body of his friend Frederic, had also taken over his duties as an ambassador to the Russian court. Peter couldn’t understand how such an evil as a vampire could hide his monstrosity long enough to maneuver the nobility without problems. Once he heard of the vampire that murdered their own estate, he had rushed to the scene to confirm his vampire couldn’t manage to suppress his nature after all, only to find out that it had been yet another vampire.

He came here for one reason only: News of the Saxon ambassador, his friend Frederic, had made it to the town his company had been stationed at, and for the first time in a while he had accrued enough clout to ask for the dispatches to Russia, the only reason he could leave his company to hunt for the evil that stole his friend. 

Of course, he had come too late. He’d found out the whereabouts of the vampire at the Schulenburg Estate in Klosteroda. From there to Berlin for his diplomatic dispatches had taken him a few days, and while he rushed the journey from Berlin to St. Petersburg, it was no small distance either. Meanwhile, the vampire masquerading as his friend Frederic had seemingly vanished after reaffirming the Saxon treaty. He’d met with Alexander I.’s chancellor, briefly, exchanging the dispatches that served as his excuse to go hunt vampires. The chancellor had been a bit suspicious about his inquiries into Count Frederic von der Schulenburg. For him and everyone else, Lord Frederic Schulenburg was the envoy of Saxony and a slightly above average, noble diplomat, certainly not a secret monster who killed people to survive, and quickly enough Peter had turned the conversation around to the monster that had done away with his servants in the most gruesome manner imaginable.

Once Peter had found him, he could tell right away that this vampire couldn’t have been more different than Frederic. Perhaps he was one of his fledges, someone he had turned, maybe even with the purpose of delaying him a little longer, but even that Peter was starting to doubt. 

How could anyone be so crude?

This vampire had succumbed completely to the sense of power he had gained by getting turned, and was dangerously overconfident that no weak human could ever harm him. He hadn’t counted on Peter, who had gone to great lengths to find out how to kill creatures like him.

Peter held onto his bayonet tightly, and rushed his horse forward. The vampire had to be tired by now, and Peter was just waiting for his prey to make that tiny mistake that would clinch the deal—and yes! He was stumbling. Only a moment later, the bayonet punched through his ribcage, piercing his heart. Already impaled, the vampire struggled to turn around while the inertia from the moving horse pushed the spear further in. His face was grotesque, not even able to pass as human in the pale shadow of the moon. “How dare you! I’m the Lord of Breznak! I can kill you where you stand! Wait until the King hears of this! I’m a noble of the first rank!” 

Oh, this guy was just ridiculous. He could not think he would get away with violently murdering all of his dependents? 

“Any last words, perhaps? Something relating to the emperor, or Frederic von der Schulenburg?” Peter asked, with not much hope the vampire would spew anything but insults.

“You can kiss my—”

Peter didn’t let him speak more. It wasn’t like anything a vampire said could be trusted. Luckily for him even with his terrible temper, Peter had given him a clean death, one that meant he didn’t have to slowly starve into dust. It was a piece of cake to punt him off this mortal coil.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Peter told him cheerfully. He might not have been the vampire he most longed to impale, but every vampire Peter could kill was one less vampire to worry about. Peter twisted the bayonet further, until the wooden handle reached his heart... and then the vampire stopped struggling and went limp. The body jerked a few times when he pulled out the stake, but upon closer inspection, he was definitely dead.

Peter sighed deeply. The hunt had taken him no longer than a day, and yet it was another day he had just barely missed the vampire hiding as Frederic. He’d killed another few vampires, which could only be a good thing, only they were all disappointingly stupid and weak. The only thing waiting for him in Russia was a long trek back to civilisation, and it led the mind to wandering. Peter still didn’t know much about vampires for all of his studies and practical experience, and nothing seemed to fit with what he knew of the vampire that had taken over Frederic. 

All the other vampires he could find were violent, oathbreakers, mad for human blood and nothing else. Frederic’s vampire had been deceptively genuine. He felt human, and a lot of Peter’s feelings of betrayal had stemmed from the fact that even now, even after he had found out, he couldn’t tell when Frederic had ceased to be and the vampire had taken his place. And looking at it now, the way he seamlessly integrated himself into the noble classes once more, carried on with his work as a diplomat in this turbulent times without misstepping— Peter feared that even if he found him, even if he managed to kill him, he’d have to reveal him as a monster first. Otherwise, he’d spent the rest of his life in prison for killing a Count without due cause.

Every power in Europe was mobilising against the threat in the West, Napoleon taking over more and more of the world, and this vampire was on diplomatic missions to form alliances. Wasn’t that for the common good?

Peter didn’t know anymore. He was tired, he wanted to kill the creature that had taken on the face of his best friend but then he’d have to kill his friend, once and for all. When he started this, he thought himself brave enough, he thought himself forthright enough, but perhaps it was all for nothing. He hadn’t seen him in so long, and his feelings had grown confused.

Not many people knew of vampires in the first place. The monks in Wallachia had been adamant that no vampire could masquerade as a human for long as their innate evil would come out and erupt spectacularly. He’d seen plenty of vampires that confirmed that theory. Plenty of them couldn’t come out under the light of the sun, many of them feared the church. And yet… nothing about Frederic’s vampire made that seem like the truth. He’d been disdainful about the church, yes, but so were many of Peter’s compatriots. He’d been pale even as a human, and disliked the sun for giving him the most terrible headaches.

It was a useless thing to think about, and yet Peter couldn’t help himself. He missed his friend quite desperately, and if anything could bring him back, well, Peter didn’t know if he’d be strong enough to do the moral thing. 

Perhaps he should take this as a sign to focus on his duties, and let the vampire be the one that had gotten away. He should leave it be, stop thinking about his personal matters, and focus on the more pressing issue of Napoleon encroaching on his home country. Both of their home countries. Vampires seemed to crop up more often when there was chaos and bloodshed, and he could save many more people from losing their best friends. He shouldn’t focus on his selfish desires.

Peter turned around, back towards civilisation, and then westwards to home. Was he giving up? He wasn’t sure himself. He would continue hunting vampires, a scourge that continued to rise amidst the chaos of war. A few more turned and sucked dry corpses were hardly noticeable in between the Napoleonic Wars surging across Europe, and the few families that would hunt them were busy protecting their homes from the French, and the Prussians, and the English. 

Perhaps that might make his wounds heal.

* * *

**_ Auerstedt, Oktober 1806 _ **

Halfway across the country, Peter crossed paths with the messenger calling him back to his army. Napoleon was focusing his attention on the Saxons, and they had asked their long-time allies of Prussia for military assistance. And Peter, as one of the Prussian’s higher lieutenants, was ordered to prepare for war. 

Peter rushed back to the cavalry company as soon as he could. They’d been preparing for an encounter with the French for months now, and while the general he was serving under, Blücher, was very pleased with the circumstances, Peter had seen how the French fought. Somewhere, somehow, they’d managed to train very effectively. Some of their rearguard had to be vampiric in nature, simply because the way they picked up the stragglers and injured was too practised for normal human beings in the fog that had slowly risen from the valleys. Nobody seemed to survive the French, unless they surrendered immediately.

“It’s the eeriest weather I have ever seen,” one of Peter’s majors said, quietly, so as not to disturb the morale further. Peter agreed with a hum. He didn’t know what could rescue this situation.

They should have been prepared for just about anything. General Blücher’s army was a little less than 70.000 men strong. And then, the fog crept up, wrapping the hills and fields into a dense cloud of wetness.

“Prepare to split up,” he said. “Focus on protecting the General at all times. If we lose him, we might as well hang ourselves in the first place.”

“And you, sir?”

“I’ll go shoot myself some drum bearers! They should’ve brought some auxiliary staff, if they want to navigate in this soup.”

The major saluted, then paused. Only after an impatient gesture from Peter did he continue speaking, “Sir, you don’t think they brought…” the last word he whispered, “...night creatures and fog monsters?”

Peter grimaced. He hadn’t thought the rumours would spread that quickly. It was insidious. He thought there would be vampires at least, and he didn’t think any European power had harnessed their might. Fog monsters and other night creatures—well, as long as he had seen neither, he’d go through life as if they didn’t exist. 

And if the French had brought vampires, they weren’t official, and nobody knew for certain. If there were vampires picking off soldiers, and it was likely that there were some, they’d be picking off French and German soldiers indiscriminately. “Do worry about your actual opponents before you worry about the imaginary ones.”

“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

And during the night that followed, Peter’s opinions would be confirmed. Between the foggy hills and the inefficient inflexibility of the Prussian troops, almost all the soldiers were helpless against the French tidal wave that swept over them. With an army half the size, a French victory was improbable, and yet, somehow, they managed.

From a distance, through the sodden landscape, pinpointing rabid and feral soldiers was an ordeal. Even harder perhaps was the fact that Peter had to ignore the increasingly desperate situation of his own troops. For now, it was more important in the long run to kill off the vampires that were following the beat to their own ends. Peter had seen the like before: They followed the army and picked up their leftovers, killing the exhausted and wounded. Oftentimes, the soldiers knew them by sight and didn’t think of them as their enemies, until one day at night and during the fights, they’d come to swallow them up. The vampires picked up both friend and foe and sucked out their lifeblood and left them to death.

Peter would only do the same to them.

At noon, the fog lifted slightly, only enough for him to see the approaching army. Forward he went, wasting no thought on whether that vampire that stole away his friend would be among them, this close to Frederic’s home. If there was anything he regretted, it was that he couldn’t have saved him in the first place—the only way to atone was to save more people from the monsters who preyed on them.

None of the vampires he killed that day looked anything like humans. Some of them had grown large fangs, dripping with the blood of the fallen. With every human they had killed, they grew more maniac, as if the blood itself fed their hunger. It didn’t make sense, comparing them to that other vampire, the one that had seemed to feed only when hungry, and left his final victim alive to this day.

It seemed ever more wrong to condemn him; but what then, had happened to his friend Frederic? There’d been a few letters that had been sent after him, in the familiar handwriting of his friend. Back then, it had only made him more nauseous to know how deep the deception could go, how far the vampire could take the duplicity. Now, he had grown doubts.

The monks had told him that vampires were great seducers, knew how to exploit the feelings of humans—Peter hadn’t thought the influence could be felt this deeply. It was insidious. He’d stop thinking about Frederic when he was killing vampires one day, but that day had not yet come. 

He turned back to the battle, and then followed the rallying cry: The Prussians were retreating. 

And then, in the weeks and months that followed, Peter had no more time to spare towards the vampires, retreating further and further from the French. Even though he’d killed the vampires following the beat of the drum, soldiers were also very good at killing people.

General Blücher became the fabled General Vorwärts, and onwards, onwards, they marched until they didn’t need vampires to drop down in exhaustion. The Saxons, left without the protection of the Prussians, yielded to the French and defected.

Peter thought of his home, that he had sold to the uncle of his best friend and which would now belong to the enemy, too. Peter hadn’t expected it to hurt this deeply, when he had been a part of the Prussian military so long. Perhaps it was time to drop his wild hunt into the void and focus on the evil at hand. It suddenly didn’t seem so sensible, running around Europe in pursuit of one man, when everyone else was losing their friends and families, but this time to an army of humans.

* * *

_** Vienna, November 1813 ** _

The bustling and hustling of every great power in Europe around the Ballhausplatz was akin to a funfair more than the solemn discussion of war and peace that it should be. Peter was glad the war was over, he was, but this seemed like a more dangerous battlefield that he wasn’t used to. How was he supposed to kill a vampire between the silk cravats and powdered wigs and elaborate dresses?

Every noble with a name and rank was present in Vienna, either among the dancing or in one of the card rooms at the side. Peter was here not in the function of his rank as a Prussian general but as a private citizen, a distinction that didn’t matter in the eyes of the nobility. It only mattered in so far, as Peter had not followed the political discussions very well, and couldn’t catch some of the finer political machinations. Mostly, his duties had been those of a ceremonial guard. Still, due to his status as one of Prussia’s leading military men, the servant had let Peter into the more exclusive rooms of the estate before vanishing to fulfil his request, and now Peter could only stand and wait.

The vampire was likely to be present. Peter had seen the invitation list by happenstance, and had recognised Lord Frederic von der Schulenburg’s name immediately. Before he could really think about what he was doing, before he had even prepared himself to continue his path of revenge that he’d almost give up some seven years ago, he’d put on his dress uniform and finangled an invitation from a very surprised General Blühcher. 

He didn’t know what he was doing. He was scared to see the vampire again, see his friend’s face and know that someone else was behind it. He had not discovered him in person yet. Perhaps he was in one of the backrooms doing god-knows-what to a couple of innocent gentlemen. He'd always been good at hiding in the card rooms.

Count Metternich, the Master of the House and the country, had been lounging on the dais earlier during the meal, and had then vanished into the back rooms to escape from the dancing and perhaps get to some more bloodsucking. Since Metternich was human, however, his was of the more political kind. As the premier minister of Austria, Metternich was the dominant political figure of these peace talks, and he had seized his moment with great vigour and zeal. Too bad that this didn’t spread to any of the other nobles, who were more interested in the cultural happenings than the restauration of the French nobility, the containment strategy for the rebellious youth, and also perhaps the liberation of the Saxon King from all his goods and chattel. The Saxon King, and Peter’s former Lord and Master, was still imprisoned in Berlin, and while all of his friends had deserted him, his lands weren’t far from anyone’s mind.

His wife, a beauty a few decades younger than him, was chatting animatedly with the wife of the Russian ambassador, possibly the only other person present who was very interested in taking Poland from the hands of the Saxons who had reigned there for centuries. Blücher, and the other Prussian ambassadors, who weren’t eying only the Polish lands, were invited to Schloss Schönbrunn outside of the city to prevent them from coming to blows.

Peter’s vampire was part of the Saxon delegation, and Peter had not been able to get close to him for weeks now. There were no unexplained massacres, no strange bloodless corpses, no courtesans gossiping about new weird habits of nobles trying to suck their blood. It was as if there was no vampire at all in the Saxon delegation. Peter wanted to go up to him and shake him until words fell out, though, “Where are you getting the blood for your nourishment?” was perhaps the least of it. It was frustrating, to say the least. When he bribed a servant, they’d shake their heads and ask for leniency—apparently, Metternich had warned away a couple of poisoners and thieves, ready to solve the Saxon matter in a more final solution. Peter wasn’t prepared to make the peace talks even more difficult for the Prussians, who rightfully thought that they had spent the most manpower to beat back Napoleon and were now unfairly treated, and so Peter desisted with this line of investigations.

Peter could not fathom what the vampire’s ultimate goal might be. Why was he continuing the facade of diplomacy? That had always been Frederic’s ultimate dream. It didn’t make sense for the vampire to take that on.

The music paused. The dancers rearranged themselves. There was no shortage of beautiful women, since even if the great powers hadn’t brought along their courtesans, the gentry sent all their unmarried and widowed ladies, with and without chaperones. The vampire was not among them, even though the sun had set hours before. Had he changed his mind at the last minute? Was he not going to attend after all? The invitation list had said he was a honoured guest.

Another waltz was starting, and a blur of differently coloured dresses and wigs passed by before Peter’s eyes. It was nothing to him.

There were several attachés around the Saxon delegation who might have had different information but Peter was only successful in bribing one of them . Perhaps even he had not been bribed properly and had only given up false information. He had been very convincing that Lord Frederic would never miss the chance to talk with Metternich, considering he was for all appearances trying to talk the King of Saxony out of the noose the main European powers had put him in. Peter didn’t understand why the vampire would do so. It seemed like a lot of effort to go for a King and country the vampire wasn’t related to. Peter didn’t understand anything this vampire did— he was so far removed from anything he had experienced so far, and why, why, did it need to be Frederic who was his victim back then? Peter would have gladly sacrificed himself in his stead. He’d already given up the lands he’d owned in Saxony back then, and it wouldn’t have been much more to add his life.

“Excuse me, milord?” A man dressed in the livery of the house had come up to his side. He was carrying a tray with cigarettes. “The Duchess of Genoa would like to convey her appreciation of your attendance.” He nodded towards the far side of the ballroom, where a rather pretty, dolled-up young woman was holding court. The servant was far more attractive to Peter than her, in his sedate attire and unobtrusive air, the sharp cut of his livery, and the fact that he wasn’t married to the Duke of Savoy. Peter couldn’t offend someone of that caliber. Looking over revealed that she was glancing at him from behind her fan. Peter focused back on the deep blue eyes of the servant and sighed deeply. “Thank you for the offer. While it is appreciated, I am engaged on a matter of life and death. The first minister of Prussia demands my utmost attention to his safety.” This was the only excuse he could reach for, as lower nobility but a military title in the Prussian army. As the highest attending minister from a rival nation, the duchess wouldn’t dare ask about his intentions for fear of stirring up a hornet’s nest.

The attendant didn’t change his face at all. He managed to retreat with a polite bow, and Peter returned to scrutinising the ballroom from the safety of the side rooms. The mirrors on the wall paired with the flickering lights of the lamps made it very difficult to distinguish features. Elaborate clothing ensembles floated by, the vampire nowhere to be seen.

Peter had met Frederic through Frederic’s uncle, when they both had been sixteen. Peter had been orphaned, and sold his family’s estate at Klosteroda to Frederic’s uncle to pay for his sister’s dowry. Frederic had been a revelation even back then, slender in his built yet absolutely brilliant at all manner of activities, from horseback riding to hunting to finding the loopholes in the school charter.

Peter couldn’t fathom when he’d been bitten, or when he’d been turned. Since they had started university together, and roomed in the same bursa, they had rarely left each other’s sights. Admittedly, Frederic had been ill with a chronic cough through most of the summers, though he more than made up with it by being more active in winter.

Peter’s best guess was that he’d been bitten while at university—really, where else would an upstanding gentleman come into contact with the unsavoury creatures of the night—and that he’d then fallen into the habit of manipulating events to his end. Peter had found out at the court of Copenhagen, and had overreacted to the surprise of finding out. The vampire hadn’t reacted in return, however, and Peter had never understood why. Later, he wondered if anything worthwhile was written in the letters he’d received and then burned. Later, he wondered a lot of things.

Somehow, the vampire had continued the same diplomatic endeavours that Frederic had loved: First, he changed his diplomatic post to one in St. Petersburg, and then later, as Peter had learned only recently, to a permanent posting in Vienna.

The vampire had spent four years here, with no major incident or anyone discovering his vampiric nature, and perhaps this, Peter was most upset by. It shouldn’t be so easy to take over his best friend’s life, take on all his pursuits and pretend forevermore. Peter also knew that he should be more upset by the existence of the vampire itself. He should be even more upset by the threat to normal citizens. And yet he could find no mention of a massacre, and every suspicious death seemed to be as far from vampires as possible.

Nervously, Peter fingered the edging of his sleeve. Behind the dais on the wall of the room, someone had painted Artemis, larger than life. The Huntress pierced a large white stag with golden horns, the ground shiny with blood. A strange rendition, considering the sacredness of deer to the ancient goddess. Perhaps the painter had only lapsed in his studies

It felt like a bad omen nonetheless. Peter clutched the sharpened cane he had brought into the ballroom since the weapons had to be left at the antechamber. The cane wasn’t altogether very sturdy, but it would do in a pinch. Peter did not trust even damask steel to protect him when his trusty fire had failed him, but bringing a musket to a ball was frowned upon. The cane was all Peter had.

And then Peter felt it. The hairs on Peter’s back stood up in attention and his blood began boiling. Only then he noticed the deft hand that was caressing the cloth of the jacket he was wearing. It was a thick jacket, woollen and reinforced, and still, the hand on Peter’s clothed shoulder felt like a hot brand on bare skin. "I heard you were looking for me, darling," a deep, soothing voice said. It was paralysing, and oh so very familiar.

"Frederic," Peter said against all his better knowledge, and tried to suppress the trembling that had come over him. No other person—no other vampire—had ever had this effect on him, and Peter had forgotten how it felt like. This was going to be a disaster, he knew it.

"Fancy seeing you here," the vampire said, and looked Peter over from top to bottom. He was as good-looking as always, truly, a countenance that could trick you into selling your soul without noticing. "Nice cane, a present from the pig Prussians?"

Peter clutched his cane harder. It was, indeed, a gift from General Blücher, the field marshall Peter had fought under at Auerstedt and Prenzlau and Bautzen and then finally at last, at the Battle of Nations in Leipzig. He was honoured, most of the time, especially when he forgot what an absolute slave-driver the old man had been through all of them. Peter was lucky to survive, not many of them had.

Peter hadn’t expected—the vampire had all the same edges that Frederic used to have. He looked exactly like he had back then, dressing himself in ludicrous colours and managing to look elegant and debonair with a sweep of his hair. He had the same inimitable charisma and sense of purpose, and Peter was bowled over again, didn’t know what to do except distract himself with inanities. How was he still this green at verbal matches?

"It took you long enough to find me, I was beginning to grow bored. And you know my kind when we grow bored." The vampire slipped his tongue over his teeth. They looked normal as of right now. At any moment, however, the fangs could snap out and kill everyone in sight. 

"There was a war on," Peter said, foolishly staring at his daring ensemble. He was dressed even more flamboyantly than usual, which was already a lot for a poor mountain Count from the middle of Europe with none of the fashion capitals near. Right now, he could easily compete with the King of France, especially now that he was in exile. His evening jacket was the same golden colour of his hair and purple sateen embroidery was trailing along his sleeves and the side of his lapels. His cravat was folded excessively, and yet the crème-white was pristine. "You probably didn’t notice."

He chuckled with a low laugh. They were standing so close that Peter could feel the vibrations himself, if Peter hadn’t heard them. “Why else would I come to Vienna, if not to escape the war? Unlike you, I didn’t have a comfortable place at my enemy’s table to rush towards.”

Peter stiffened. The words raised his hackles. This was designed to make him angry and yet— Peter noticed that while his arms were crossed over confrontationally, his fingers were tapping nervously against his sleeves. He had not yet succumbed to the eternal smart talker. Though, perhaps, the vampire had taken on too many of Frederic’s habits, if he could read him this well. Or maybe this, too, was a trap? “I’m calling you out,” Peter said, trying desperately to find somewhere he could kill this vampire in peace, and maybe find out how exactly the vampire had managed to infiltrate—well, first and foremost, Peter’s friend, but also the Court of Alexander I. and now the Court in Vienna.

“For what, looking attractive? Talking to you? Can you imagine how that looks, as the Lieutenant General of General Vorwärts, Scourge of the French, intimidating the diplomat of the Saxon King who is still imprisoned in Berlin. How are you going to explain that to your benefactor?” The vampire was getting closer, and even though he was smaller than Peter, his presence was intimidating. Peter had seen enough vampires rip apart a human throat with their teeth to be comfortable having him this close. 

Peter stepped back, eying the crowd around them. He didn’t know how to deal with this, he didn’t know anything—what had the monks of Wallachia said? If you can’t handle a vampire by yourself, confuse him by surrounding yourself with prey? But none of this made any sense, Frederic was surrounded by people—he’d must have been surrounded all the time. The noise of the orchestra was so loud even Peter couldn’t stand it, and he had to suffer through cannon firing. 

But the vampire didn’t relent, and continued onwards, “Think of the punishment you will get if you don’t care about all the ranks of nobles in Vienna right now, I’m sure General Vorwärts is just as decisive and cruel in bed as he is on the battlefield. Tell me, what did you have to do to land in cahoots with the likes of him? Was it the King of Prussia, he sure does like your type a lot!”

“What are you trying to do?” Peter asked. He felt as if he was part of a different conversation, as if nothing the vampire said made any sense in the moment, and only in the context of Frederic did it even begin to make sense. But how did the vampire know their history so well? What was the vampire trying to do, really, that seemed to be the eternal question. None of this made any sense whatsoever. Was it really only Frederic’s face that could discombobulate him so?

Nobody had noticed them yet— even if they did, it was unlikely they’d help Peter in this dispute. Peter was the physically larger one, the one in military uniform even if it was only the ceremonial one. If the onlookers knew who they were, then they might come to Lord Frederic’s aid even more: The diplomatic attache of the imprisoned Saxon King had a particularly important role if only to stand in for his master, who had played all the major powers against each other in the pursuit of peace.

“Isn’t it very obvious?” The vampire said, with arched brows. It was infuriating.

“Are you insinuating anything about my—” Peter hissed, and then didn’t know how to put it. Was the vampire trying to start gossip of all things? Gossip? That seemed to be his ultimate weapon against Peter? This was ludicrous, this was what you did to an old flame when they married your enemy and paraded them in front of your nose, not something you did with human lives “—relations?” Peter continued, finally. What human lives had the vampire taken, after Frederic? A rush of cold sweat came over Peter. Was Frederic still a part of that vampire?

“Are you denying it?” The vampire asked in return, quieter this time. 

“Yes! Of course I’m denying it! Why would anyone want that kind of— of— of merit! What kind of outrageous slander— what kind of mind would think to insinuate...the King of Prussia!” Peter had, admittedly, lost the thread of the conversation, and could only stare wide-eyed at the vampire. Frederic. Had he been the one to completely misunderstand everything? But why hadn’t he explained? Why hadn’t he—Peter thought of the letters he burned, unopened. He thought of the servants at Klosteroda, who had let him into the estate, and had let him stay there even though the Lord wasn’t at home. Had he been friends with a vampire all along?

“It’s certainly not the King of Prussia,” Frederic said with a laugh. “But I can definitely attach your name to a different one tomorrow.” Was this a threat, when it sounded like flirting? His voice was like a caress and Peter could feel the warmth of his breath next to his ear. His knees felt weak. The vampire was manipulating him again. The vampire knew exactly what kind of impact a good-looking man of his caliber had. He did this for the rumours only. Looking away from his icy eyes, Peter caught several other guests peeking at the spectacle. Peter flushed red and looked at the floor.

“If you want to call me out,” he said, and moved away, “you should stop coming to my hunting grounds, and lure me out to yours instead. How have you become so bad at this? The Prussians aren’t doing your mind any good.” He let go, stepped back.

Peter could breathe again, finally, and yes, Peter too, wondered how he could’ve lost his mind in this way. Peter could only blame it on his own eagerness to see him. 

“Thank you for the news from home,” Frederic said, and bowed deeply. “You shouldn’t have. I always appreciate news from my fellow _commilitius_. The next time you may address me directly at my home without the need to bother with the formalities.”

Peter watched him leave. He was bewildered, completely, by this new impression of Frederic that had so much of the old, and yet added a new dimension he had never considered. Had Frederic always been a vampire? Was this the reveal? Had this been a misunderstanding of epic proportions, just because Peter didn’t wait for an explanation, and Frederic fled before he could ask for one? 

...Was this more or less tragic as an end for what he thought would be a life-long relationship than having his soul stolen by an evil vampire? Peter didn’t know. Peter didn’t know if he could forgive him, hiding such a big aspect of his personal life, when he’d been very clear about his own taboo inclinations. 

Peter continued watching him talking his way across the floor, charming, amenable. 

One thing he continued to be right about, however: It would not be easy to kill a vampire with a status of a diplomat in Vienna, not right now—and it was dishonourable, too. Peter didn’t want to rob the King of Saxony of his only spokespersons in Vienna, when he was imprisoned in Berlin and could do nothing to influence the peace talks except hope for the best. It really was a tragedy considering the King of Saxony was imprisoned for colluding with the French when the Prussians left them to their fate after the battles of Auerstedt and Jena. Peter felt at fault, considering he was part of at least one of them.

Peter went home to the elaborate sandstone townhouse full of the other Prussian soldiers who were celebrating the achievements of their chief diplomat who had been guaranteed the regions around Danzig. There was no reason to feel sad. Peter had been part of the Prussian military for long enough now that he could ask for any estate and get the approval. Peter had been without land for half his age and there was no reason to mourn the castle he had sold, since it was Saxon territory and unlikely to stay that way after the turn of the year. Nevertheless, Peter felt very alone. He didn’t know if he had managed to turn away the only friend he ever wanted to keep by being ignorant and foolish, or if his friend had always meant to keep him in the dark about his nature. Neither were good thoughts.

* * *

_** Vienna, January 1814 ** _

The invitations to balls and soirees and dances and plays continued to pile up. Often, none of the ambassadors and diplomats were going to attend and only the society was rubbing arms. It didn’t sound appealing to Peter. Instead, he spent the nights in taverns and pubs, listening to the locals gossiping and sussing out rumours for unexpected deaths. A few times, he had to attend the general at Schönnbrunn Palace, probably only so that the general had one more soul to suffer alongside him.

The more there was no news on that front, the more suspicious Peter grew. Who heard of a vampire who didn’t need blood. How could he kill people this stealthily, and where was he getting them from? The French? Preposterous. 

Peter retreaded his investigations into Frederic’s estate in Vienna. He talked to servants, he investigated the whorehouses, he talked to the grocers on the street. None of them could report inexplicable deaths. Then he started to consider the possibility that some vampires may have had enough control to suck blood but not kill. Thus, he went around asking the former people if they knew of particular fainting spells. He wrote a letter to the monastery in Walachia, where he had found most of his vampire ressources, then thought better of it for fear of those zealous devouts and didn’t send it. In that vein, days passed.

And then, there came an invitation from Lord Detlev of Einsiedel, another one of the Saxon King’s men trying to speak for him while he was imprisoned. It was very likely that his fellow diplomats would attend at least for a few hours, and if Peter wanted to confront Frederic again, it was either this or attending the negotiations. There was no possible way Peter would be allowed to attend the negotiations as anything other than a spectator, not that he particularly wanted that either. And so he dolefully prepared another set of clothes to attend yet another soiree. 

It was worth the trouble, however, because as soon as he stepped into the foyer and told the attending butler his name and title he could see Lord Frederic in the distance. This time, he was wearing a bright turquoise ensemble. Awkwardly, Peter pulled at his jacket. He couldn’t pull off the staid brown that he was wearing, let alone something that bright and colourful. His friend Frederic had teased him for looking like an old man— In any case, Peter had always been a conservative dresser.

“Sir. Sir.” The butler interrupted his inner monologue. “Pardon me, I didn’t catch your name?” 

A few heartbeats passed before Peter could focus on the words spoken, and then he spent a few seconds embarrassed by his own reaction and forgetting his introduction. 

By then the vampire had come up to them. “This is Lieutenant General Peter Gustav Job von Witzleben of the Wendelstein line. He’s with me.” Before Peter had the wherewithal to protest, he was dragged off by the vampire towards a quieter alcove. Music was already playing, and the fast, buoyant rhythm was only accelerating the pace of his heartbeat.

“I invited you to my home, why didn’t you go there?” the vampire whispered. “This isn’t a good time and place for a fight or a conversation. Couldn’t you pick anywhere else?” He was looking more and more agitated. 

“Excuse me?” Peter asked. The last time the vampire had reacted very composed, and seeing the frantic face now, Peter was wondering if he had missed something.

“You can’t believe I’m going to tell you what the Saxon delegation is doing!” Abrupt as it was, suddenly understood the problem. Frederic thought he was here to meddle with the negotiations, when nothing further was on his mind. He seemed very frazzled. “It was your home once, too, and what of your sister still living there? If the Prussians swallow Saxony, you can bet your life they’re not going to stop there! Do you want the nations to continue warring indefinitely, until the only people left will be the generals and the English? We cannot take another one of General Vorwärts’s courageous wins, where he loses five thousand in his retreat and sets fire to the fields from the Rhine to the Saale!”

“Peace.” Peter snorted, incredulous. “What, you’re hiding in Vienna for peace? You? Are you kidding me?”

Lord Frederic shot him a strange look. “I haven’t been hiding. Haven’t you been back at the estate? What else do you think I’m doing it for?” he asked, finally.

Peter stopped short. He could think of nothing now that the vampire had put him on the spot like that. He knew it was strange, because Peter had never met a vampire who hadn’t gone mad from bloodlust. That was primarily how Peter met vampires. Whereas Lord Frederic had always been very restrained and very human in his threats. Never had he tried sucking Peter’s blood, and yet he knew that Lord Frederic was capable of it. That was how he had found out, after all, that room in Copenhagen, where Peter had stumbled upon the most intimate of scenes, the vampire lying there with an indolent sprawl, pressing into the throat of a poor unfortunate soul. He had seen the long, narrow fangs, the blood on his mouth, and the bliss on Frederic’s face that was burned into his mind indefinitely if only because he had wanted to see it under different circumstances. The sense of betrayal he had felt then could not compare with anything he had felt since. Peter could not remember how that person had left, he could only remember the fight, in which Frederic had pushed him down easily when he had always believed the other to be delicate if very aggravating in his word choices. Frederic used to duel with words not swords, and that habit had seemed to stick. Even so, Peter had felt panicked from the sudden strength, afraid. There was nothing that could’ve stopped Frederic from finishing him, nothing, except maybe sentiment and mercy, and since then Peter had experienced himself how vampires had none.

Peter had blacked out, fainted, perhaps. When he woke up, dazed and confused, there had been nobody present. The oil lamp in the sitting room had tipped over during the fight and had now slowly set the chaise longue on fire. It was his fault for not trying to put out the fire, but he needed to be gone, and he _couldn’t think_. His best friend was a monster, and he’d stumbled out of his house into the first best lodging he could find. The room had apparently continued burning without anyone noticing, as the next day, the house was burnt to the ground.

All of its inhabitants had escaped, and Lord Frederic had attended court as usual. Peter had considered going there to accuse him of vampirism, but the idea had been too far-fetched, his reputation too uncertain and success questionable. He’d gone home to his sister, who had told him to just talk to Frederic if they’d had a fight--but he couldn’t, it was so far beyond everything he ever experienced and how-- instead, he had gone to church, where a bewildered if understanding priest had set him in front of a book on local stories. In retrospect he should’ve gone to Frederic before a trip to a monastery in Wallachia, but Peter had felt betrayed, he felt devastated, and much of it had probably been the woman. He’d thought he knew Frederic better than that.

He’d visited relatives in Wallachia and Britannia, who knew how to deal with the likes. He’d come across his fair share of the violent, shameless creatures, all of them murderers who revelled in their power over human life, who could not hide behind the thin veneer of civilisation to attempt a diplomat’s task. Had he simply met the only creatures who could not hide their bloodlust?

Why was Lord Frederic different? Why could he fake humanity so well? Did more vampires exist that could seamlessly integrate into human life and culture?

“You’re a monster,” Peter said, uncertain. 

“Am I? Oh.” Frederic didn’t change his mien at all. There was just his face, the same way it had looked when they’d both been kids, too young to know any better, running around Leipzig and then Wittenberg pretending they knew everything about the world. “I should just go and turn half the European royalty into vampires then, shall I? Is that what you’re expecting of me?”

“He was my _friend_ ,” Peter said. His eyes felt tight. He’d always wondered what had happened. How he could not have noticed, if he could have changed things. “Why didn’t you tell me you had changed?” He was fairly certain now that he’d been wrong back then, but he’d never expressed his grievances.

He didn’t notice the tears running down his face until a gloved hand came up to his cheek and wiped one away. “But I have always been the same,” he said in a quiet murmur so low, it could almost not be heard at all. “When you met me, I was already what I am today.”

“Perhaps I would have believed you when you told me back then, but how am I supposed to, now? After everything that happened. You didn’t explain for seven years.” 

“What would get you to believe me?” Frederic asked in return. “I did try to explain. I don’t suppose you read the letters.”

Peter looked down on the ground, at the polished wooden herringbone pattern. “I don’t know,” he said.

His hand was still on Peter’s face. “For what it’s worth—” he said, and paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain,” he said, and that was it, Peter had to swallow his tears. This was not—

“I guess I could believe you in time,” he said. “Maybe. This was your fault and mine, equally, you should not have kept it from me, and I should not—should not have run away. It doesn’t matter. I’ve forgotten you. There’s no need to rekindle—” he interrupted himself. This wasn’t the time for a confession, when he had barely fixed their past misunderstanding. And then a thought caught his attention. “I’ve always tried to find out—how do you feed if you don’t kill people?” 

Frederic laughed. “The normal way, I guess? It’s still in fashion to do a little bloodletting to prevent all manner of diseases. Did you try to investigate the grocers? You should’ve focused on the butcher, he does surgical bloodletting for me.”

“Ah,” Peter said, and kept it in mind for checking again.

“I could show you,” Frederic said, and his hand wandered down his neck. “It’s usually done at the arm, but personally I have a faible for necks…”

Peter shuddered under his touch. This was almost too much for him. He wanted, desperately, for Frederic to continue, but he also was aware of their differences. It was too much all at once, and he wasn’t sure he trusted Frederic with his life, yet. 

And then it was Frederic himself who retreated. He stepped back, let go of Peter’s neck slowly. “We shouldn’t,” he said. “I have too much at stake with this, today. Can you—Will you let me visit you as soon as I have time? We should talk.”

Peter had barely nodded, before Frederic left with a very abrupt bow. 

Only then, Peter had the wherewithal to care about his audience. Nobody seemed to have noticed them, except an older woman nearer to the exit who seemed interested in the spectacle. He tipped his hat at her, and hurried past her. While walking past, trying to ignore her attention, she stopped Peter. They exchanged the usual pleasantry while Peter was on edge, waiting for her to come to the point. He didn’t recognise her at all, but for her to step out of courtesy and greet him like this, the matter had to be important. After rubbing her gloves together nervously for a few minutes, she said finally, “Pertaining the Lord of Schulenburg, your lordship… I was wondering if you were aware of that matter?”

“Yes?” Peter asked, trying not to appear impatient. Who was she, to tell him this?

“Well, he’s not allowed to speak in his official status as the ambassador.” She said very quietly

For a moment, Peter was confused. He had not spent a lick of thought on politics recently, and it took him a second to understand what this woman was getting at. “He’s not?” Suddenly, he understood. The woman must have confused their private conversation with an official one. He’d been announced as a Prussian General, and Frederic was the Saxon envoy. As of right now, they were still on hostile terms.

Her voice was just a wispy breath when she explained in more direct terms. “Since the King of Saxony is imprisoned for treason, they’ve been putting him on a short leash. He pretends like he hasn’t lost any power, and he’s present at the negotiation, but as his private self, not as the ambassador to Saxony. He does his best, but his influence is negligible at best.” Peter knew that, knew that the Saxon delegation hadn’t been presented with voting rights. But he had thought at least their ambassador had the rights to talk in the negotiations… no wonder he’d found nothing to investigate, not even the least-paid servant. There was nothing to tell: The only one who could go to the back rooms to listen, and then maybe talk afterwards about unrelated things was Frederic himself.

And Peter couldn’t believe it. How could he still think he could rescue Saxony from annexation, if he didn’t even have veto rights? Frederic’s business would take some time. His mind reeling from everything he had experienced, his emotions in utter turmoil, he left without goodbyes.

The entrance was filled with carriages all the way down the elaborate drive. Peter’s head was swimming, and he couldn’t focus long enough for his mind to settle down and think about the revelations the vampire had made. Could he really believe that Frederic—that he’d been a vampire all along? It defied expectations. Why then where so many of the vampires he had hunted and killed violent and cruel? How could some of them leave their humanity behind?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Then again, Peter had met some very cruel humans, first among them perhaps his own general, who hadn’t let up, and rushed them until they collapsed from starvation and exhaustion, and then left them lying there and hurried on. A general who sacrificed the few, if thousands of men could ever be called as few, just so that his King could pretend they hadn’t lost against the army of Napoleon. He’d done a lot in the past ten years he hadn’t thought moral or at all possible when he had been a student and not all of it had involved hunting down vampires. Admittedly, the vampires he hunted had mostly been beings who had killed multiple people in gruesome ways. 

Was what the vampire had said true? Was he really Frederic, and had always been Frederic, and Peter had just wasted 10 years on a hunt for his best friend’s murderer while he was still alive? He didn’t want to be so terribly wrong, but he most feared that he was. 

His feet took him through the city of Vienna until the streets looked familiar again. The guards out front towered over the rabble—most of them were blonde, too, which was less rare here than in Russia but combined with the Teutonic visage nevertheless very impressive. Peter fit right in, and yet, somehow, that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to fit right in, he wanted to be part of something else, something more— and perhaps revenge and vampire hunting had always been that for him. What would he be now that this had turned out to be a lie?

He dragged himself up the stairs, to the small room he didn’t have to share because of his status, and then laid down. He had no answers, and only more questions, and so he fell asleep, dreaming about his past kills who all transferred into the pleading face of Frederic.

The next morning when Peter woke up, the house was again full of people clamouring—apparently the King of Prussia had finally gone all in on his bid for the Saxon Lands, meaning all of the new kingdoms lands as well as the electoral monarchy of Poland. The Austrians had been furious, the Zar outraged, and the ball rooms full of people betting on both sides. Was this it? This seemed like something the Saxons couldn’t get back from, especially since they were just big enough to make a tempting target for the 4 big powers, and not big enough to stand against them on their own. The Saxons had tried their best not to be annexed but now, through bad fortune and the waffling tactics of their King who had switched alliances to whoever had its army closest, they had lost.

Peter had sold his lands a long time ago, and yet he still felt like it was a crying shame. So many lives had been lost protecting Saxony, and yet it wouldn’t survive. Not to mention the poor Polish people, who had been able to elect their King but were now pressed under the yoke of the Russian Czar.

Either way, everyone at the congress was running around like headless chickens, fearing attacks from all sides. General Blüchner was preparing for a Russian invasion, and Peter was busy enough talking him down to split his attention to the Austrians, too. 

Then, in rushed the first minister Metternich, wanting to speak to the first diplomat. He was in a great hurry, not even his hair sat right. His usually impeccably styled dress looked thrown together, too. He was followed by one of the Czar’s men, taller than even the Prussian guard, and maybe double the width. "I demand an explanation to this, this, outrageous demand! With what kind of authority does King Frederic think he can just annex whatever he wants?"

"My dear Metternich," Peter could hear the voice of their own highest general, Frederic’s hated General Blücher, through the echoing courtyard. His attitude was as condescending as ever. "It may be with the authority of the one who is holding the ruler accountable."

"You cannot believe he’s going to sign anything legitimating you of all people, even if you keep him in Berlin!" Metternich shouted.

"Perhaps we should retreat towards the salon?" A brave attendant intervened before they could inform the entire street of their plans. Peter stepped closer, trying to be unobtrusive. He was not the kind of person to understand much about this political manoeuvring, a topic he had always left to his friend Frederic, but he knew when shit was stinking. 

"Perhaps I should have my troops retreat to the Saxon’s capitol of Dresden, that would seem to be the only language you listen to!" Metternich hissed furiously, but before they could throw down gloves and fight it out right there in the open the service staff was ushering them behind closed doors.

Peter lingered for longer, but he couldn’t partake in the discussion with his rank and knowledge, and even if he had, what could he do? He was the brawn, not the brain, though recently, he wasn’t even sure about his strength. It seemed inferior to a certain someone’s, too, like everything he’d always done.

A few hours later, Metternich left in a hurry but much more pleased than he had entered. "I will hold you to that," Peter could hear him threaten the general, "Because while we’re of course focusing our attention on the restoration of our French cousins, we can refocus on the situation in the North just as easily."

The quiet Russian was standing next to him, his face as stony as it had been when he came. With the deeply disgusted look the general sent him, however, Peter knew who was the one that had profited the most. It wasn’t the Prussians.

"I don’t know how Metternich got wind of this one fast enough to block it effectively," General Blücher later confided in him. "I was sure I had him distracted arguing about Sicily and France. It’s not like he cares about Poland one way or another, but to give it to the Russians! That’s just inviting the tiger to your door. At least we both speak the same language, though how I’m supposed to understand him when he butchers his Esses and slurs his Tees…"

"Perhaps he was most impressed by the show of force," Peter put forward. "Metternich’s ruler is terrified about having to give opinions on anything. Even though he argues about letting Prussia lead the German alliance, he seems scared about doing anything on his own. It may be the right time for another stab at it."

General Blücher clapped him on the shoulder. "You’re a good lad, Peter, but I think this is the last concession we’re getting out of this one. Everyone is tired of this. The speeches and committees are dragging on and on, and nobody is getting anything out of it, least of all the French. No, this is the best we could hope for It’s time to go home." And then he left, too.

Peter stood there for a while. Was this what the vampire had wanted? The King of Saxony to get back what was his, the Electorate of Poland to go to Alexander I. to deter the Prussians, and Frederic to go back to his estates in Saxony, untouched by war? A hard fought detente, and then he could go home? What a concept. It seemed ridiculously easy, after Frederic had arranged this. Peter had been a Saxon by birth, too. His original allegiances should be to the Saxons, as should Frederic’s. But really, who had cared when they were young? The Prussians and Saxons were cousins, and so were the Austrians if you looked at it from a bit of perspective.

Peter wanted to go home, but there was nothing there for him. He’d only go back to another war, or perhaps a more secure standing. He had served long enough, with some merits, he could ask for his own landed estates. Let the vampire, let Frederic go. He shook his head, disbelieving. Was this really all of it? He wanted to see Frederic, at least one more time. Just one more time, to ask him if he was real or if this had been an elaborate trap to make him walk into it.

Peter startled awake. Nothing seemed to be wrong in his room. The curtains of the canopy were closed around him. The noise from downstairs had settled, not even a small breeze was whispering through the floors.

For some reason, the hair on Peter’s neck was standing up. Slowly, he reached for the candle at his bedside table. Midway through the reach, he changed his mind and held onto the knife, also on his bedside table, gripping it tight.

A curtain swooshed.

"Are you awake?"

Faster than he could think, he sat up into a crouch and held his knife into the dark void of the night. "That is a uniquely stupid question," Peter answered. "Much like coming into the room of a sleeping man, presumably wanting to talk about your general innocence of all murderous thoughts. This is not actually a reassuring habit to have, nor is it convincing me of your innocence, considering a house full of soldiers didn’t notice your arrival."

A throat cleared. “My apologies,” the vampire said. “This visit is rather unorthodox. I didn’t know how else I should—this was the easiest way of talking to you face to face.”

Peter couldn’t believe this. A few days had passed, or he would have thrown the knife and asked questions later. Knowing the vampire physiology which helped them survive past unimaginable odds, albeit Peter had killed this one Bavarian bloodsucker that hadn’t even seemed to have bones, he’d have survived.

"This is the best you could do? Creeping into my room, in a house full of Prussians while you’ve humiliated their almost completely settled plan?"

"As if Austria would have let the Prussians take the rich and cultured lands of Saxony. Metternich would have sooner eaten his own foot, rather than give extra cake out to the Prussians. Did you know they wanted a German empire under their own King? Preposterous." Frederic said. Underneath the laissez-faire attitude he was smug, Peter could tell. He watched the vampire carefully, for what, he wasn’t quite sure himself. Only the longer he watched, the more he felt himself relaxing back into his down pillows, the more he felt called back to their times as young university students, living in the same building, going to the same drinking dives.

Frederic shuffled his feet awkwardly. This time, he was making noises while moving, which just proved Peter’s theory: Half of his ineptitude he was definitely faking. Peter’s instinct had gone haywire days ago, however, and he couldn’t ascertain if he was doing it maliciously or just out of general awkwardness.

“Would you have let me talk somewhere else?” Frederic asked after a long while simmering in silence.

Peter shrugged. Perhaps not. Perhaps they needed the quiet dead of the night to speak honestly to each other. Perhaps he would never have listened, if he hadn’t been sleep deprived and not sober. 

“What are you here for,” Peter asked. “I don’t understand. I have—You are— what are you doing here?”

“I would like to explain,” Frederic said. 

There was a beat, maybe two. “Now you come to me!” Peter said, furious. "Now! Ten years later! What are you going to explain now, that will help?" Frederic’s face was so near now, he could see the single hairs on his eyelids. His pupils were blown wide, as if he’d taken belladonna to pretty himself up. In a way, he’d already delivered himself right to Peter’s bed. He did not want—He wanted too much— Why could he not stop this, so they would never have to see each other again, never have to think about how much they hurt each other, how much they couldn’t turn back time, how utterly wrong they were for each other. “I don’t want to hear your schemes. You always talk me into things.”

As he had always done when provoked with his ambitious mindset, Frederic protested loudly, before he remembered their surroundings and quieted down. “An explanation is not a scheme! And this way may only prolong the fate of Saxony for a few more decades, but you cannot believe a Prussian hegemony will benefit the people, or anyone other than the Prussian nobility! A detente between the great powers will be just the thing to balance the powers, so that the common folk can focus on rebuilding their own, after the wars. They’ve enough to handle with just Napoleon and the rebellious sentiment in the provinces, without allowing Prussia to swallow up all their neighbours. And it’s not people like them, or us, who will suffer from the crop losses and high taxation."

"That’s revolutionary talk," Peter said.

"And you seem to have forgotten your roots. I’ve heard you say much more treasonous speech."

"I was young. Probably drunk, too. If they’d heard you say that now—you, King Frederic’s chief diplomat!—they’d find a reason to kill you."

"Do you know what they’re calling him? King Frederic? The Just. They imprisoned the man because they thought he’d change flags as soon as an army stood on his doorsteps again, and they’re calling him the Just."

"You’re changing the topic," Peter said. "You’re upset about something else, not the powers, or the King. My questions aren’t about the politics, it’s not like I’m going to understand much about it anyway. I want to know what a vampire is, how you can be one, and why the ones I hunted were always mad with bloodlust and you are not."

Frederic closed his eyes. “My family was vampiric in nature, and has been since our forefather became a knight. He must have been turned but our family chronic is not too clear about that. He found a vampire that would mate with him, however, and his children had always only mated with vampires, all the way down to me and Uncle Job, who bought your castle. What a vampire is--well, that’s a rather difficult question. You could call us parasites, as we need human blood to survive. The sun burns us, as does belief, sometimes, but only if we’re already weak. As you probably found out through your hunting, something that has been alive needs to pierce our hearts before we’re killed. The Bloodlust? That comes and goes. The people in my family have always been able to channel it into more productive channels. My mother used to hunt boars, and my father cut wood. My great aunt Catherine writes penny novels, and I...well, there’s the politics." He opened his eyes again, and they were piercing in their intensity.

For what felt like an era, Peter was speechless. It was a relief, to know. Spelled out like that, he wasn’t sure he would have believed any of it before he had seen it in person. Something in him settled, even while he continued to regret his first reaction to the vampire revelation. But both of them had suffered, and he didn’t want to continue suffering if he didn’t have to. 

Peter might still love him, even after all of this. "I am still upset," Peter admitted. Frederic’s face didn’t change much, still that handsome contour, the windswept dark hair, the cupid bow on his pink lips that had always been so entrancing. He’d always been very entrancing, and he’d always known how to use that to his own advantage. He could talk General Blücher out of wanting Saxony and Poland, without physically being there. He was outrageous. “You should have taken the time to make sure I understood. How was I to know any of this?”

"You can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions. Isn’t that what you did? But yes, I did many things that day I have regretted, chief among them presenting you with that scene. I hope you don’t find me too revolting.”

“How could I not find it revolting when you had that harlot on your lap sucking up to her! You must have known how I felt about you! You knew everything else!”

“But how could I? You professed your friendship, and only your friendship to me almost every day. How was I supposed to know you felt the same? And I needed blood, and it wasn’t a harlot! Her name is Cornelia and she had nothing to do with this!”

“Oh, her name is Cornelia! That makes it so much better when you have only introduced her ten years after the act! What was I back then! Was I not supposed to be your friend! And yet Cornelia, your servants, who knows who else! They all knew about you didn’t they, and they laughed as poor Peter the Stupid continued to stumble after you, begging for the scraps you deigned to give me!"

"Oh? So you didn’t piss off into the Wallachian forests as soon as you heard they could teach you how to kill vampires?"

"And they taught me and I killed so many vampires, Frederic! Do you know how I could kill them? Because they’d gone on rampages through human villages, and killed countless people. I killed the vampires who followed the beat and killed off the soldiers who weren’t quite dead yet from exhaustion and injury, and the ones that jumped on me once I had a reputation. How else would I know? When there’s you in my bed now, and I can’t tell that you are different. I thought you had—you know what I thought."

"I am a vampire," Frederic said. "And I need human blood to survive. I’ve always been one, but I’ve never killed a human to feed. It’s not necessary for me, and I find it an intolerable waste of ressources. I’m also finished, I dealt with everything that needed to be done, and I am laying myself at your mercy." Frederic lowered his eyes and looked down. He was probably faking it, just as good as he’d always been at faking humanity. Peter was furious with it all, but most furious with himself, because he could feel himself giving in.

He’d wanted to be in Cornelia’s place, even back then, secretly and in his dreams. "I want to see it," Peter said. "Show them to me."

"They’re nothing much," Frederic said, the modesty very surprising. 

"I heard it’s different across families," Peter said. Suddenly, he rediscovered his bravery and felt along the cut of Frederic’s jaw. His face didn’t feel different, his skin warm and slightly rough from shaving, the bones sharper beneath. Then, daring to go further, Peter leaned forward. He was waiting for a protest, some sign that this was not going to be appreciated.

Frederic caught his breath and stopped moving entirely. Peter took that as the sign he was waiting for, and pressed a kiss against the jaw. When that didn’t lead to an explosion, he pressed the next one closer to his mouth. "Come on," Peter repeated. "Show them to me. I want to see."

"I’m—" Frederic tried to say, and then he couldn’t suppress them anymore. And now Peter could see them, see how they had slightly raised the skin, razor-sharp teeth, designed only to pierce through skin to suck out blood. It only made him more excited. If Frederic wanted to be staked by him, then perhaps he too, wanted to be staked in return. A promise of mutual destruction, since they were both too terrible for anyone else. He was greedy for him.

Peter could feel his fangs, could feel them sliding down his neck and pressed closer, enveloped his friend in his arms, in the first hug they shared in a decade. "Please," he said, and could feel his hair standing up when the fangs connected with his bare skin. Yes, this was what he’d been looking for. 

Frederic was not biting—not yet. His lips pressed a series of kisses along Peter’s veins, and Peter could only urge him on, further and further down the deep end.

“Come on,” Peter said, "Are you going to leave me hanging for another ten years?" 

Peter could feel him smile, his lips curving up on his skin. They were close enough he could feel his lashes tickling his cheek. Then, finally, Frederic bit down, and it was bliss.

He hadn’t known he was waiting for this intimacy, this closeness, this sharing of precious lifeblood. He didn’t know he had wanted it so much, in between the guilt and the regret and the terror of losing the only person he had left who made this life worth living.

He didn’t know yet if he could continue, if there was something he could do that was worthwhile. But with Frederic back at his side, by god, he would try.

_** Schulenburg Residence in Klosterrode, August 1814 ** _

The carriage wobbled around the last corner over the crickety post road. The landscape hadn’t changed the past decade and looked astonishingly familiar. Patches of beech woods alternated with potato fields and buckwheat, the rolling hills presenting their best side under the heat of the summer. In the distance, there were sparse bits of farm houses. This was far from any of the upheaval in the rest of the country. Nobody here cared to whom it was they paid their taxes. 

Peter had sold this estate when his father had died and he needed cash for his sister’s dowry. He thought he didn’t have sentimental feelings connecting to that house, but when it appeared out of the distance, his heart felt lighter.

"I finished the library," Frederic said from under the tarp of the carriage. The window was closed and a thick blanket provided cover from the high summer sun. It was a terrible way to travel, but less conspicuous than travelling only by night. Perhaps it would have restrained Peter’s enthusiasm under different circumstances, but the hiding only delighted him now. This way, he could sneak into the carriage and offer kisses, and ask for them in return. This way, he could tease out Frederic’s fangs and look at the way his face changed to match. 

Around the corner, the old castle appeared. The foundation was a 12 th century monastery but had long since converted into a feudal manor, standing steadfast and unwavering. When Frederic’s uncle had bought the manor and its estate, he’d started building a new manor house to the modern taste. Once, Peter had visited, for a short while only, and then he’d returned again after the incident of Kopenhagen to look for Frederic. Obviously, he hadn’t been there at the time.

Peter leaned towards the window. "Did you also finish the bath and the bedroom?" he was teasing.

"Are you just listing places where I can devour you?" Frederic asked. "If so, there’s 40 more rooms. Uncle planned for a big family, before he succumbed to the plague. No, I remember a young student who would say that he’d not marry into a house unless there was a library of sufficient size attached."

Peter laughed. "I was very ignorant as a youth."

Frederic closed his eyes and smiled. The carriage stopped—they had arrived in front of the house. "I have a library," Frederic repeated finally. "And also a bath and a bedroom. Napoleon is at Elba, the King of Saxony on his throne, Austria is busy with Italy and the French, Prussia and Russia are sulking at each other, and your company has disbanded. Will you come in with me?"

"I thought that was a given," Peter said. "Seeing as if I have already travelled home with you."

"Will you stay?" Frederic asked.

Ah, Peter thought fondly, because only now he was mentioning the stone in his heart. "Forever, if you’ll have me," he said.

That’d been all, if Frederic hadn’t tipped his head to the side. "Forever is a bit long, isn’t it?" His eyes had crinkled up, smiling, but his mouth was still firm, and Peter couldn’t help it, he dove back into the carriage, and did his best to persuade Frederic that he’d be satisfied with nothing less than forever and a day.

That promise was promptly demonstrated, and the carriage house was the inaugural room to experience that demonstration. Followed by the bath and the library and the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Morbane who went painstakingly through messy drafts to fix my plot and asked pertinent questions, and elijah_was_a_prophet for last-minute SPaG-checking ❤︎


End file.
